Twelve Angry Countries
by JrFireMageTink
Summary: Twelve men in a jury room. Two brothers. One trial. Twelve Angry Men, but with human Hetalia characters. Human names used. Slight GerIta hints in chapter 3.
1. Chapter 1

The actors:  
Arthur Kirkland (England)  
Kiku Honda (Japan)  
Lovino Vargas (Romano)  
Yao Wang (China)  
Feliciano Vargas (Italy)  
Ivan Braginsky (Russia)  
Alfred F. Jones (America)  
Matthew Williams (Canada)  
Pancrazio Agostino (Roman Empire)  
Gilbert Beilschmidt (Prussia)  
Ludwig Beilschmidt (Germany)  
Francis Bonnefoy (France)  
Peter Turner (Sealand)  
Basch Zwingli (Switzerland)

I did change a few last names, so they wouldn't be related. Namely Peter. I had to make up a name for Grandpa Rome, since he doesn't currently have a human name. Everything else is true to canon.

I won't reveal the names of each juror immediately. Try and guess who they are before the introductions! ^J^

* * *

Twelve men sat in a jury box, listening halfheartedly as the judge rattled on.

"Murder in the first degree—premeditated homicide—is the most serious charge tried in our criminal courts." He said seriously, staring over the jury box with piercing sea blue eyes. "You've heard a long and complex case, gentlemen, and it is now your duty to sit down to try and separate the facts from the fancy. One man is dead. The life of another is at stake. If there is a reasonable doubt in your minds as to the guilt of the accused ... then you must declare him not guilty. If, however, there is no reasonable doubt, then he must be found guilty. Whichever way you decide, the verdict must be unanimous. I urge you to deliberate honestly and thoughtfully. You are faced with a grave responsibility. Thank you, gentlemen." He bowed his head, blond hair falling into his eyes. The light glimmered off his name tag, reading _'Peter Turner'._

"The jury will retire." The clerk droned, and, almost hesitantly, the twelve jurors stood, filing out of the jury box and into the jury room. The room was furnished with a long conference table and a dozen chairs. The walls were bare, drab, and badly in need of a fresh coat of paint. Along one wall was a row of windows which looked out on the skyline of the city's financial district. High on another wall was an electric clock. A washroom opened off the jury room. In one corner of the room was a water fountain. On the table were pads, pencils, and ashtrays. One of the windows was open. Papers blew across the table and onto the floor as the door opened. Lettered on the outside of the door were the words "Jury Room." A uniformed guard holds the door open, his chin length blond hair waving in the gentle breeze. Slowly, almost self-consciously, the twelve jurors filed in. The green eyed guard counted them as they entered the door, his lips moving, but no sound coming forth. Two of the jurors went to the water fountain. A man with an aged look about him went into the washroom, the door of which is lettered "Men." Several of the jurors took seats at the table. Others stood awkwardly around the room. Several looked out the windows. A blond haired man with an odd cowlick, standing at the window, took out a pack of gum, took a piece, and offered it around. There where no takers. He mopped his brow.

"Y'know something?" He asked a tall man with pale blond hair. "It's hot." The man nodded, a smile pasted on his face. "You'd think they'd at least air-condition the place for the hero. I almost dropped dead in court."

He opened the window a bit wider. The guard looked them over and checked his count, the gun holster at his hip obviously full. Then, satisfied, he makes ready to leave.

"Okay, gentlemen. Everybody's here. If there's anything you want, I'm right outside. Just knock." He left, closing the door. Silently they all looked at the door as the lock clicked.

"I never knew they locked the door." Chimed a man that seemed to have his eyes closed.

"Sure, they lock the door. What did you think?" A man with white hair and red eyes replied, blowing his nose.

"I don't know. I just never thought about it." The man replied, his voice bouncy.

Some of the jurors are took off their jackets, the heat becoming too much for the extra layer of clothing. Others sat down at the table. They were still reluctant to talk to each other. The Foreman, a blond haired man with bushy eyebrows was at head of the table, tearing slips of paper for ballots. Another juror, a young man holding a stuffed polar bear looked out the window, as the two men by the water cooler start talking.

"Six days. They should have finished it in two." He raved, his voice punctuated by an Italian accent. "Talk, talk, talk. Did you ever hear so much talk about nothing?"

"Werr ... I guess ... they're entitred." The black haired man replied nervously.

"Everybody gets a fair trial." He shook his head. "That's the system. Well, I suppose you can't say anything against it."

He looked at the Italian nervously, nodded, and moved away from the water cooler. The man with the polar bear continues staring out the window.

"How did you like that business about the knife? Did you ever hear a phonier story?" The cowlicked man asked, still wearing a brown leather jacket with a pale yellow star on it.

"Vell, look, you've gotta expect that, kesesese." He cut himself off with an odd hissing laugh. "You know vhat you're dealing vith."

"Yeah, I suppose." He replied. "What's the matter, you got a cold?"

"Nah, it's a verbal tic of mine."

The blue eye man nodded sympathetically. "I suppose I have one of those. As a habit, I always call myself a hero."

"All right, gentleman." The foreman interjected. "Let's take our seats."

"Right. This better be fast. I've got tickets to a ball game tonight. Yankees-Cleveland. They got this new kid, Modjelewski, or whatever his name is." He mimed throwing a ball. "Shoom. A real jug handle."

They all sat down, except for the man at the window. The foreman took his seat at the head of the table, sending an annoyed look at still standing man.

"How about sitting down? The gentleman at the window."

He turned, startled.

"How about sitting down?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." He replied, sitting down sheepishly.

"It's tough to figure, isn't it? A kid kills his father. Bing! Just like that. Vell, it's the element. They let the kids run vild. Maybe it serves 'em right." The pale haired man said to the other pale haired man.

"Is everybody here?" The foreman asked, looking around the table.

"The old man's inside, on hon." A man with a rose clipped to his jacket stated.

The bushy browed man turned to the washroom door as the old man walked out.

"We'd like to get started." He told the man, frustrated.

"Forgive me, gentlemen. I didn't mean to keep you waiting." The man's voice was rich, but held an element of resignation.

"It's all right. Find a seat." He sighed.

He took a seat, and the rest of the table stared expectantly at the foreman.

"I suppose a few introductions are in order." He straightened his papers. "My name is Arthur Kirkland. I'm from England."

"My name is Kiku Honda. I am from Japan." Stated the black haired man with a Japanese accent.

"I'm Lovino Vargas. I come from Southern Italy." Said the Italian who had been talking to Kiku.

"My name is Yao Wang. I'm from China." Stated a man with brown hair in a ponytail.

"Ve~ My name is Feliciano Vargas. Lovino is my twin brother!"

Lovino muttered something under his breath about stupid brothers.

"My name is Ivan Braginsky, da? I was born in Mother Russia." Introduced the tall man with pale blond hair.

"I'm Alfred F. Jones, and I'm AMERICAN!" Shouted the blond with a cowlick.

The door unlocked, and the guard stuck his head in. "Be quiet in there. Since you are all doing introductions, my name is Basch Zwingli. I'm Swiss."

The guard exited, closing and locking the door.

"Anyway, my name is Matthew Williams, I'm from Canada."

"My name is Pancrazio Agostin. I am from Italy as well." Said the old man.

"The awesome me is named Gilbert Beilschmidt!" Cried the man sitting next to Matthew. "I'm from the awesome Prussia!"

"Mein gott, shut up bruder." Muttered the blond sitting next to him. "My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt. Gilbert is mein bruder."

"My name is Francis Bonnefoy. I am from France, the country of love, hon hon." He stated, tilting Arthur's chin up.

Arthur quickly pulled back and started speaking again. "All right. Now, you gentlemen can handle this any way you want to. I mean, I'm not going to make any rules. If we want to discuss it first and then vote, that's one way. Or we can vote right now to see how we stand."

"Let's vote now. Who knows, maybe we can all go home." Alfred said, leaning his chair back.

"Kesesese. Let's see who's where." Gilbert offered.

"Right. Let's vote now." Lovino said.

"Anybody doesn't want to vote?" Arthur asked, looking around. "Okay, all those voting guilty raise your hands."

Nearly everyone raised their hands immediately. Pancrazio hesitated, but raised his hand. Matthew remained motionless.

". . . . Nine . . . ten . . . eleven . . . That's eleven for guilty." Arthur counted. "Okay. Not guilty?"

Matthew slowly raised his hand.

"One. Right. Okay. Eleven to one, guilty. Now we know where we are."

"Somebody's in left field." Lovino sneered. "You think he's not guilty?"

"I don't know." Matthew said quietly, looking down.

"I never saw a guiltier man in my life. You sat right in court and heard the same thing I did. The man's a dangerous killer. You could see it!"

"The man? He's nineteen years old."

"That's old enough. He knifed his own father. Four inches into the chest. An innocent nineteen-year-old kid. They proved it a dozen different ways. Do you want me to list them?"

"No." Matthew replied calmly.

"Vell, do you believe his story?" Gilbert asked.

"I don't know whether I believe it or not. Maybe I don't."

"So what'd you vote not guilty for?" Alfred interjected, straightening.

"There were eleven votes for guilty." He replied sheepishly. "It's not so easy for me to raise my hand and send a boy off to die without talking about it first."

"Who says it's easy for the hero?"

"No one."

"What, just because I voted fast? I think the guy's guilty. You couldn't change my mind if you started talking during the revolution!"

"I don't want to change your mind. I just want to talk for a while. Look, this boy's been kicked around all his life. You know, living in a slum, his mother dead since he was nine. That's not a very good head start. He's a tough, angry kid. You know why slum kids get that way? Because we knock 'em on the head once a day, every day. I think maybe we owe him a few words. That's all." Matthew rambled.

Matthew slowly looked around the table. Some of them looked back coldly. Some couldn't look at him. Only Pancrazio nodded slowly. Francis doodled steadily. Yao untied his hair and began to comb it.

"I don't mind telling you zis, kesesese. Ve don't owe him a thing. He got a fair trial, didn't he? You know vat zat trial cost? He's lucky he got it. Look, ve're all grownups here. You're not going to tell us zat ve're supposed to believe him, knowing vhat he is. I've lived among 'em all my life. You can't believe a vord zey say. You know zhat." Gilbert ranted.

"I don't know that. What a terrible thing for a man to believe! Since when is dishonesty a group characteristic?" Pancrazio said wisely. "You have no monopoly on the truth—"

"All right. It's not Sunday. We don't need a sermon." Lovino interrupted.

"What this man says is very dangerous—"

Feliciano reached across the table, placing his hand on Pancrazio's arm. The Italian's touch seemed to calm him. He took a deep breath, his face relaxing.

"I don't see any need for arguing like this." Yao said, retying his hair. "I think we ought to be able to behave like gentlemen."

"Right!" Alfred barked.

"If we're going to discuss this case, let's discuss the facts."

"I think that's a good point. We have a job to do. Let's do it." Arthur ordered.

"If you gentlemen don't mind, I'm going to close ze vindow." Ludwig stood, turning to close the window. "It vas blowing on my neck."

"Kesesese..." Gilbert snickered quietly.

"I may have an idea here. I'm just thinking out loud now, but it seems to me that it's up to us to convince this gentleman—" Francis pointed to Matthew. "—that we're right and he's wrong. Maybe if we each took a minute or two you know, try it on for size—"

"That sounds fair enough." Arthur interrupted. "Supposing we go once around the table."

"Okay, let's start it off." Alfred said, reclining.

"Right. I guess you're first, Kiku.

"Oh. Werr..." Kiku looked around nervously. "I just think he's guirty. I thought it was obvious. I mean nobody proved otherwise."

"Nobody has to prove otherwise." Matthew pointed out. "The burden of proof is on the prosecution. The defendant doesn't have to open his mouth. That's in the Constitution. The Fifth Amendment. You've heard of it."

"Werr, sure, I've heard of it." He replied, flustered. "I know what it is. I ... what I meant ... werr, anyway, I think he was guirty."

"Okay, let's get to the facts." Lovino said, jumping in less than a second after Kiku stopped speaking. "Number one, let's take the old man who lived on the second floor right underneath the room where the murder took place. At ten minutes after twelve on the night of the killing he heard loud noises in the upstairs apartment. He said it sounded like a fight. Then he heard the kid say to his father, _'I'm gonna kill you.'_ A second later he heard a body falling, and he ran to the door of his apartment, looked out, and saw the kid running down the stairs and out of the house. Then he called the police. They found the father with a knife in his chest."

"And the coroner fixed the time of death at around midnight." Arthur supplemented.

"Right. Now what else do you want?" He asked, the odd curl on the right side of his head bobbing angrily.

"The boy's entire story is flimsy." Yao started. "He claimed he was at the movies. That's a little ridiculous, isn't it? He couldn't even remember what pictures he saw."

"That's right. Did you hear that?" Lovino turned to Yao "You're absolutely right."

"Kesesese, vat about ze voman across ze street? If her testimony doesn't prove it, zen nothing does."

"That's right. She saw the killing, didn't she?" Francis questioned.

"Let's go in order." Ordered Arthur, getting very frustrated.

"Just a minute. Here's a voman who's lying in bed and can't sleep. It's hot, you know. Kesesese, she looks out ze vindow, and right across ze street she sees ze kid stick ze knife into his father. She's known ze kid all his life. His vindow is right opposite hers, across ze el tracks, and she swore she saw him do it."

"Through the windows of a passing elevated train." Noted Matthew.

"Kesesese. And they proved in court that you can look through the windows of a passing el train at night and see what's happening on the other side. They proved it."

"I'd like to ask you something. How come you believed her? She's one of _'them'_ too, isn't she?" Matthew accused.

Gilbert rose, stalking over to Matthew. "You're a pretty smart fellow, kesesese."

"Now take it easy." Arthur said, standing.

Lovino stood up, walking over to Gilbert. "Come on. Sit down. What're you letting him get you all upset for? Relax." He chatted with Gilbert at he led him back to his seat.

"Let's calm down now." Arthur said, sitting and turning to Feliciano. "It's your turn."

"Ve~ I'll pass it."

"That's your privilege." He turned to Ivan. "How about you?"

"I don't know." He said slowly. "I started to be convinced with the testimony from those people across the hall, da? Didn't they say something about an argument between the father and the boy around seven o'clock that night?"

"I think it vas eight o'clock. Not seven." Ludwig corrected the Russian.

"That's right. Eight o'clock. They heard the father hit the boy twice and then saw the boy walk angrily out of the house. What does that prove?" Mathew asked.

"Well, it doesn't exactly prove anything. It's just part of the picture, ja? I didn't say it proved anything."

"Anything else?" Arthur asked.

"No." He answered, walking over to the water fountain.

"All right. How about you Alfred?"

"I don't know, most of it's been said already. We can talk all day about this thing but I think we're wasting our time. Look at the kid's record. At fifteen he was in reform school. He stole a car. He's been arrested for mugging. He was picked up for knife-fighting. I think they said he stabbed somebody in the arm."

"Ever since he was five years old his father beat him up regularly. He used his fists." Matthew defended.

"So would I! A kid like that." Alfred attacked.

"You're right. It's the kids. The way they are—you know? They don't listen." Lovino's voice turned bitter. "I've got a kid. When he was eight years old he ran away from a fight. I saw him. I was so ashamed. I told him right out, _'I'm gonna make a man out of you or I'm gonna bust you up into little pieces trying.'_ When he was fifteen he hit me in the face. He's big, you know. I haven't seen him in three years. Rotten kid! You work your heart out . . ." He paused, embarrassed. "All right. Let's get on with it."

"We're missing the point here." Yao said. "This boy—let's say he's a product of a filthy neighborhood and a broken home. We can't help that. We're not here to go into the reasons why slums are breeding grounds for criminals. They are. I know it. So do you. The children who come out of slum backgrounds are potential menaces to society."

"You said it zere. I don't vant any part of zem, kesesese."

Feliciano clenched his fist, before shooting up, knocking the chair back, his amber eyes blazing. "I've lived in a slum all my life—"

"Oh, now vait a second!" Gilbert tried to placate the angry Italian.

"I used to play in a back yard that was filled with garbage. Maybe it still smells on me."

"Now let's be reasonable. There's nothing personal—" Arthur tried to calm Feliciano down.

"There is something personal!" He shouted, before he seemed to realize what he had done. He sat down, closing his eyes as a fierce blush coated his cheeks.

"Come on, now. He didn't mean you, brother. Let's not be so sensitive..." Lovino said, reaching over Yao to pat his shoulder.

"I can understand his sensitivity." Ludwig said carefully.

"Now let's stop the bickering. We're wasting time." Arthur said, severely annoyed. "It's your turn."

"All right. I had a peculiar feeling about this trial. Somehow I felt that the defense counsel never really conducted a thorough cross-examination. I mean, he was appointed by the court to defend the boy. He hardly seemed interested. Too many questions were left unasked." Matthew started.

"What about the ones that were asked? For instance, let's talk about that cute little switch-knife. You know, the one that fine up-right kid admitted buying." Lovino mentioned sarcastically.

"All right. Let's talk about it. Let's get it in here and look at it. I'd like to see it again, Mr. Foreman." Matthew requested.

Arthur gave him a funny look, but stood and walked to the door, rapping on it sharply. Basch opened the door, looking in. Arthur whispered something to him, then Basch nodded, before closing and locking the door.

"We all know what it looks like. I don't see why we have to look at it again." Lovino argued, annoyed. "What do you think?"

"The gentleman has a right to see exhibits in evidence." Yao presented.

"Okay with me."

"This knife is a pretty strong piece of evidence, don't you agree?" Yao asked Matthew.

"I do."

"The boy admits going out of his house at eight o'clock after being slapped by his father."

"Or punched."

"Or punched. He went to a neighborhood store and bought a switch-knife. The storekeeper was arrested the following day when he admitted selling it to the boy. It's a very unusual knife. The storekeeper identified it and said it was the only one of its kind he had in stock. Why did the boy get it? As a present for a friend of his, he says. Am I right so far?"

"Right."

"You bet he's right." Lovino interjected. "Now listen to this man. He knows what he's talking about."

"Next, the boy claims that on the way home the knife must have fallen through a hole in his coat pocket, that he never saw it again." Yao continued. "Now there's a story, gentlemen. You know what actually happened. The boy took the knife home and a few hours later stabbed his father with it and even remembered to wipe off the fingerprints."

The door's lock clicked, and Basch entered carrying a knife with a very distinct handle. Yao stood, taking the knife as Basch left, locking the door behind him.

"Everyone connected with the case identified this knife." He held the knife up. "Now are you trying to tell me that someone picked it up off the street and went to the boy's house and stabbed his father with it just to be amusing?"

"No." Matthew disagreed, shaking his head. "I'm saying that it's possible that the boy lost the knife and that someone else stabbed his father with a similar knife. It's possible."

Suddenly, Yao flicked open the knife, stabbing it into the table.

"Take a look at the knife. It's a very strange knife. I've never seen one like it before in my life. Neither had the storekeeper who sold it to him." Yao argued.

Slowly, Matthew reached into his pocket and pulled out an object, holding it under the table as he stood up.

"Aren't you trying to make us accept a pretty incredible coincidence?"

"I'm not trying to make anyone accept it. I'm just saying it's possible."

"And I'm saying it's not possible." Lovino interjected once more.

Matthew calmly reveals the object, flicking opening its blade and stabbing it into the table next to the tagged knife. They were exactly the same.

The rest of the jurors stared in silence, shocked looks on their faces. Except for Feliciano, who had an almost dreamy look.

"What are you trying to do?" Lovino shouted, slamming his hand on the table.

"Yeah, what is this, kesesese? Who do you think you are?" Gilbert said, as a canary flew in through the window, landing in his hair.

"Look at it! It's the same knife!" Feli said, seemingly amazed.

"Where did you get it?" Yao yelled as Matthew.

"I got it last night in a little junk shop around the corner from the boy's house. It cost two dollars." He replied, still with a calm face.

"Now listen to me you pompinara! You pulled a real smart trick here, but you proved absolutely zero. Maybe there are ten knives like that, so what?" Lovino asked, infuriated.

"Maybe there are."

"The ragazzo lied and you know it!" His English was slipping in his anger.

"He may have lied." Matthew turned to Gilbert. "Do you think he lied?"

"KESESESE! Of course he lied!"

"Do you?" He asked Yao.

"You don't have to ask me that. You know my answer. He lied."

"Do you think he lied?" He turned to Feli.

The hazy smile dropped from his face, and he looked down. "Ve~ I don't know."

"Now wait a second. What are you, the guy's lawyer? Listen, there are still eleven of us who think he's guilty. You're alone. What do you think you're going to accomplish? If you want to be stubborn and hang this jury he'll be tried again and found guilty, sure as he's born." Alfred shouted, standing up.

"You're probably right." Matthew said, never losing his composure.

"So what are you going to do about it? We can be here all night."

"It's only one night. A man may die." Pancrazio mentioned.

America took a long look at the silent Roman. Matthew glances over at the juror to his left, sending him a small smile.

Silence permeated the room for a few moments, before it burst into chaos.

"Well, whose fault is that?" Lovino demanded.

"Do you think maybe if we went over it again, da? What I mean is—" Ivan started.

"Did anyone force him to kill his father?" Gilbert quizzed, the bird in his hair twittering madly. "How do you like him? Like someone forced him!" He grumbled to Lovino.

"Perhaps this is not the point." Pancrazio said, trying to placate the group.

"Ve~ No one forced anyone. But listen—" Feli said quietly.

"Look, gentlemen, we can spitball all night here." Francis stated.

"Werr, I was going to say—" Kiku started, only to be interrupted by Alfred.

"Just a minute. Some of us've got better things to do than sit around a jury room." Arthur's eye twitched at his mangling of the English language.

"I can't understand a word in here. Why do we all have to talk at once?" Yao inquired.

"He's right. I think we ought to get on with it." Arthur ordered, trying to be the voice of reason.

Matthew sat there silent..

"Well, what do you say? You're the one holding up the show." Lovino asked angrily.

"I've got a proposition to make." Matthew proposed.

Feliciano listened closely to Matthew. If his eyes had been open, he would've been staring at him.

"I want to call for a vote. I want you eleven men to vote by secret ballot. I'll abstain. If there are still eleven votes for guilty, I won't stand alone. We'll take in a guilty verdict right now."

"Okay. Let's do it!" Alfred agreed.

"That sounds fair. Is everyone agreed?"

They all agreed. Matthew stood, moving to the window.

"Pass these along." Arthur said, sliding slips of paper down the table.

 _ **AN: And that's the end of Chapter 1! I hope you like it! Chapter 2 should be out VERY soon.**_


	2. Chapter 2

Matthew stood tensely as the other eleven jurors filled out their ballots and passed them back to Arthur. Arthur shuffled them, then started to read.

"Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty." He read.

He paused. "Not Guilty." Lovino slammed his hand on the table. "Guilty."

"Kesesese, how do you like that!"

"Who was it? I think the hero has a right to know." Alfred barked, glaring around the table.

"Excuse me. Zhis vas a secret ballot. Ve agreed on zhis point, no? If ze gentleman vants it to remain secret—" Ludwig rationed, before Lovino interrupted him.

"What do you mean?" He shouted angrily. "There are no secrets in here! I know who it was." He turned, pointing an accusing finger at Feli. "What's the matter with you fratello? You come in here and you vote guilty and then this slick preacher starts to tear your heart out with stories about a poor little kid who just couldn't help becoming an assassino. So you change your vote. If that isn't the most sickening—"

Feli stared at Lovino, tears welling in his eyes.

"Now hold it." Arthur ordered, glancing between the Italian brothers.

"Hold it? We're trying to put a guilty man into the chair where he belongs—and all of a sudden we're paying attention to fiabes."

"Now just a minute—" Feli opened his eyes angrily, trying to stand up, only to feel Ivan's hands holding his shoulders down.

"Please. I vould like to say something here. I have always thought zhat a man vas entitled to have unpopular opinions in zhis country. Zhis is ze reason I came here. I vanted to have the right to disagree. In my own country, I am ashamed to say—" Ludwig admitted.

"What do we have to listen to now—the whole history of our country?" Gilbert interrupted him, the canary taking flight to peck at Ludwig's head, before Gilbert called him off. "Heel, Gilbird."

"Yeah, let's stick to the subject." Alfred turned to Feli. "I want to ask you what made you change your vote."

Feli and Alfred glared at each other, honey brown eyes meeting sky blue.

"There's nothing for him to tell you. He didn't change his vote. I did." Pancrazio paused. "Maybe you'd like to know why."

"No, we wouldn't like to know why." Lovino roared at the older Italian.

"The man wants to talk." Arthur admonished.

"Thank you." Pancrazio pointed at Matthew. "This gentleman chose to stand alone against us. That's his right. It takes a great deal of courage to stand alone even if you believe in something very strongly. He left the verdict up to us. He gambled for support and I gave it to him. I want to hear more. The vote is ten to two."

"Zhat's fine. If ze speech is over, let's go on." Gilbert said, totally not pouting at the lack of chaos.

Arthur stood, walking to the door. Basch looked in and took the knife from the Englishman's hand, before leaving and re-locking the door.

"Look, fratello, I was a little excited. Well, you know how it is. I ... I didn't mean to get nasty. Nothing personal."

Feli closed his eyes, looking at his brother sadly, before turning away to face the table.

"Look, supposing you answer me this." The American asked his hat. "If the kid didn't kill him, who did?"

"As far as I know, we're supposed to decide whether or not the boy on trial is guilty." Matthew reasoned. "We're not concerned with anyone else's motives here."

"Guilty beyond a reasonable doubt." Pancrazio noted. "This is an important thing to remember."

"Everyone's a lawyer." Lovino muttered to Gilbert, before turning to Pancrazio. "Supposing you explain what your reasonable doubts are, nonno."

"This is not easy. So far, it's only a feeling I have. A feeling. Perhaps you don't understand." Pancrazio tried to explain.

"A feeling! Vhat are ve gonna do, spend ze night talking about your feelings, kesesese?" Gilbert raged. "What about ze facts?"

"You said a mouthful." Lovino turned to Pancrazio. "Look, the old man heard the kid yell, _'I'm gonna kill you.'_ A second later he heard the father's body falling and he saw the boy running out of the house fifteen seconds after that."

"That's right. And let's not forget the woman across the street. She looked into the open window and saw the boy stab his father. She saw it. Now if that's not enough for you... on hon hon." Francis muttered the last sentence under his breath.

"It's not enough for me." Matthew replied.

"How do you like him? It's like talking into a dead phone." Alfred mimed holding a phone to his ear.

"The woman saw the killing through the window of a moving elevated train. The train had five cars, and she saw it through the windows of the last two. She remembers the most insignificant details." Yao tried to reason with Matthew.

Francis started to doodle an el train on a leftover piece of paper.

"Well, what have you got to say about that?" Lovino asked smugly.

"I don't know." Matthew said, shaking his head. "It doesn't sound right to me."

"Well, supposing you think about it." Lovino said, a tone of finality. "Lend me your pencil."

Francis passed it to him, and Lovino immediately started to draw a game of tic tac toe. He filled in an X, before passing the pencil back to Francis.

"Your turn. We might as well pass the time." He muttered snidely.

Francis accepted the pencil, but before he could make a mark, Matthew snatched the paper away.

Lovino leaped up angrily. "Wait a minute!"

"This isn't a game." Matthew said, steel in his eyes.

"Who do you think you are, idiota?"

"All right, let's take it easy." Alfred tried to break up the fight.

"I've got a good mind to walk around this table and belt him one!" Lovino roared.

"Now, please. I don't want any fights in here." Arthur's bushy eyebrows in a near knot on his forehead.

"Did ya see him? The nerve! The absolute nerve!" Lovino ranted.

"Kesesese. Forget it. It don't mean anything." Gilbert placated.

"How about sitting down, da?" A dark aura seemed to surround the Russian, and everybody obeyed, immediately sitting.

"This isn't a game." Lovino mocked. "Who does he think he is?"

Matthew held the scrap of paper, looking at it closely, before tossing it down the table to Yao.

"Take a look at that sketch. How long does it take an elevated train going at top speed to pass a given point?"

"What has that got to do with anything?" Yao questioned, looking at the drawing.

"How long? Guess."

"I wouldn't have the slightest idea."

"What do you think?" Matthew turned to Feliciano.

"Ve~ about ten or twelve seconds, maybe."

"I'd say that was a fair guess. Anyone else?"

"I vould think about ten seconds, perhaps." Ludwig contemplated.

"About ten seconds." Kiku added.

"All right. Say ten seconds. What are you getting at?" Yao asked.

"This. An el train passes a given point in ten seconds. That given point is the window of the room in which the killing took place. You can almost reach out of the window of that room and touch the el. Right?" Matthew looked around at their nodding heads. "All right. Now let me ask you this. Did anyone here ever live right next to the el tracks? I have. When your window is open and the train goes by, the noise is almost unbearable. You can't hear yourself think."

"Kesese. You can't hear yourself think. Vill you get to ze point?"

"The old man heard the boy say, _'I'm going to kill you,'_ and one second later he heard a body fall. One second. That's the testimony, right?"

"Right." Kiku agreed.

"The woman across the street looked through the windows of the last two cars of the el and saw the body fall. Right? The last _two_ cars." Matthew emphasized.

"Vhat are you giving us here?" Gilbert wondered.

"An el takes ten seconds to pass a given point or two seconds per car. That el had been going by the old man's window for at least six seconds, and maybe more, before the body fell, according to the woman. The old man would have had to hear the boy say, _'I'm going to kill you,'_ while the front of the el was roaring past his nose. It's not possible that he could have heard it." Matthew rationed.

"What d'ya mean! Sure he could have heard it." Lovino argued.

"Could he?"

"He said the boy yelled it out. That's enough for me."

"I don't think he could have heard it." Pancrazio added.

"Maybe he didn't hear it. I mean with the er noise..." Kiku trailed off.

"What are you people talking about? Are you calling the old man a liar?" Lovino stood again, slamming his fist onto the table.

"Well, it stands to reason, fratello."

"You're crazy. Why would he lie? What's he got to gain?"

"Attention, maybe?" Pancrazio reasoned.

"You keep coming up with these bright sayings. Why don't you send one in to a newspaper? They pay two dollars." Lovino spat, glaring at the Roman.

Matthew glared at the raving Italian, then turned to Pancrazy.

"Why might the old man have lied?" He asked gently. "You have a right to be heard."

"It's just that I looked at him for a very long time. The seam of his jacket was split under the arm. Did you notice that? He was a very old man with a torn jacket, and he carried two canes. I think I know him better than anyone here. This is a quiet, frightened, insignificant man who has been nothing all his life, who has never had recognition—his name in the newspapers. Nobody knows him after seventy-five years. That's a very sad thing. A man like this needs to be recognized. To be questioned, and listened to, and quoted just once. This is very important." He rambled.

"And you're trying to tell us he lied about a thing like this just so that he could be important, mon cheri?

"No, he wouldn't really lie. But perhaps he'd make himself believe that he heard those words and recognized the boy's face." Pancrazio explained.

"Well, that's the most fantastic story I've ever heard." Lovino shouted sarcastically. "How can you make up a thing like that? What do you know about it?"

"I speak from experience." He replied quietly, his head down.

"All right. Is there anything else?" Arthur asked Matthew.

"Anybody ... want a cough ... drop?" Kiku asked slowly.

"Come on. Let's get on with it." Arthur said sharply, his eyes like chips of jade.

"I'll take one." Kiku slid one down the table almost gratefully. "Thanks." Kiku nodded as Matthew popped the cough drop in his mouth.

"Now. There's something else I'd like to point out here. I think we proved that the old man couldn't have heard the boy say, _'I'm going to kill you,'_ but supposing he really did hear it? This phrase: how many times has each of you used it? Probably hundreds. _'If you do that once more junior, I'm going to murder you.' 'Come on, Rocky, kill him!'_ We say it every day. This doesn't mean that we're going to kill someone." Matthew reasoned.

"Wait a minute. The phrase was _'I'm going to kill you,'_ and the kid screamed it out at the top of his lungs. Don't try and tell me he didn't mean it. Anybody says a thing like that the way he said it—they mean it." Lovino argued.

"And how they mean it!" Gilbert agreed.

"Well, let me ask you this." Matthew started. "Do you really think the boy would shout out a thing like that so the whole neighborhood would hear it? I don't think so. He's much too bright for that."

"Bright! He's a common, ignorant slob. He don't even speak good English." Gilbert exploded.

"He _doesn't_ even speak good English." Ludwig corrected him.

Gilbert shot a glare at his brother. Feli looked around nervously, before speaking.

"I'd like to change my vote to not guilty."

Lovino stood up angrily, stalking over to the window.

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked.

"Yes. I'm sure." He affirmed.

"The vote is nine to three in favor of guilty." Arthur informed the rest of the table.

"Well, if that isn't the end." Alfred turned to Feli. "What are you basing it on? Stories this guy—" he pointed at Matthew "—made up! He oughta write for _Amazing Detective Monthly_. He'd make a fortune. Listen, the kid had a lawyer, didn't he? Why didn't his lawyer bring up all these points?"

"Lawyers can't think of everything." Feli justified.

"Oh brother!" Alfred turned to Matthew. "You sit in here and pull stories out of thin air. Now we're supposed to believe that the old man didn't get up out of bed, run to the door, and see the kid beat it downstairs fifteen seconds after the killing. He's only saying he did to be important."

"Did the old man say he ran to the door?" Feli asked.

"Ran. Walked. What's the difference? He got there."

"I don't remember what he said. But I don't see how he could run."

"He said he went from his bedroom to the front door. That's enough, isn't it?" Yao asked.

"Where was his bedroom again?" Matthew asked.

"Down the hall somewhere. I thought you remembered everything. Don't you remember that, kesesese?" Gilbert mocked.

"No. Mr. Foreman, I'd like to take a look at the diagram of the apartment." Matthew requested.

"Why don't we have them run the trial over just so you can get everything straight?" Alfred asked sarcastically.

"Mr. Foreman—" Matthew started.

"I heard you." Arthur said, rising.

Arthur stood, going to the door. Basch opened the door, listened to Arthur's whispered request, and left.

"All right. What's this for?" Lovino asked Matthew. "How come you're the only one in the room who wants to see exhibits all the time?"

"I want to see this one, too." Feli agreed.

"And I want to stop wasting time." Lovino said.

"If we're going to start wading through all that nonsense about where the body was found . . ." Yao trailed off.

"We're not. We're going to find out how a man who's had two strokes in the past three years, and who walks with a pair of canes, could get to his front door in fifteen seconds." Matthew stated.

"He said twenty seconds." Lovino argued.

"He said fifteen." Kiku replied.

"How does he know how long fifteen seconds is? You can't judge that kind of thing." Lovino said.

"He said fifteen. He was positive about it."

"He's an old man. You saw him. Half the time he was confused. How could he be positive about ... anything?" Lovino quickly realized what he just said and looked around sheepishly.

Basch opened the door, carrying the blueprint. He handed it to Arthur, and left.

"May I?"Matthew asked, reaching for it.

Arthur nodded, handing it to him. Matthew quickly set it up on a spare chair, whilst several of the jurors stand to get a better look. Lovino, Alfred, and Gilbert stubbornly remain in their seats.

"Do me a favor Gil. Wake me up when this is over." Alfred proceeded to recline, placing his feet on the table.

"All right." Matthew started, ignoring him. "This is the apartment in which the killing took place. The old man's apartment is directly beneath it and exactly the same. Here are the el tracks. The bedroom. Another bedroom. Living room. Bathroom. Kitchen. And this is the hall. Here's the front door to the apartment. And here are the steps. Now the old man was in bed in this room. He says he got up, went out into the hall, down the hall to the front door, opened it and looked out just in time to see the boy racing down the stairs. Am I right?"

"That's the story." Confirmed Lovino.

"Fifteen seconds after he heard the body fall." Continued Matthew.

"Correct." Prussia said.

"His bed was at the window. It's—" Matthew took a closer look. "—twelve feet from his bed to the bedroom door. The length of the hall is forty-three feet, six inches. He had to get up out of bed, get his canes, walk twelve feet, open the bedroom door, walk forty-three feet, and open the front door—all in fifteen seconds. Do you think this is possible?"

"You know it's possible." Prussia griped.

"He can only valk very slowly. Zhey had to help him into the vitness chair."

"You make it sound like a long walk. It's not." Grumbled Lovino.

Matthew suddenly moved to the end of the room, grabbing two chairs, putting them together to indicate a bed.

"For an old man who uses canes, it's a long walk." Pancrazio countered.

"What are you doing?" Lovino asked Matthew, annoyed.

"I want to try this thing. Let's see how long it took him. I'm going to pace off twelve feet—the length of the bedroom." Matthew started to walk.

"You're crazy. You can't re-create a thing like that."

"Perhaps if ve could see it ... zhis is an important point." Ludwig said.

"It's a ridiculous waste of time." Lovino shouted angrily.

"Let him do it." Ivan ordered the dark aura surrounding him again.

"Hand me a chair." Matthew requested, and someone quickly handed him one. "All right. This is the bedroom door. Now how far would you say it is from here to the door of this room?"

"I'd say it was twenty feet." Ivan estimated.

"Just about." Kiku reasoned.

"Twenty feet is close enough. All right, from here to the door and back is about forty feet. It's shorter than the length of the hall, wouldn't you say that?"

"A few feet, maybe." Pancrazio guessed.

"Look, this is absolutely insane, kesese. What makes you think you can—" Prussia got cut off by the Canadian.

"Do you mind if I try it?" Matthew asked. "According to you, it'll only take fifteen seconds. We can spare that." He walked over to the two chairs, lying down. "Who's got a watch with a second hand?"

"I have." Kiku volunteered.

"When you want me to start, stamp your foot. That'll be the body falling. Time me from there." Matthew lay down on the chairs. "Let's say he keeps his canes right at his bedside. Right?"

"Right!"

"Okay. I'm ready."

The other jurors watched carefully. Kiku stared at his watch, waiting for the second hand to reach sixty. When it does, he stamps his foot loudly. Matthew slowly got up, swinging his legs over the edge of the chairs. He reaches for an imaginary cane, and slowly stood up. He started to walk over to the chair that represents the bedroom door. When he reached it, he mimed opening it.

"Speed it up. He walked twice as fast as that, kesese!" Gilbert shouted. Getting bored, Gilbird flew back out the window.

Matthew ignored him, and started walking down the 'hallway'.

"Zhis is, I think, even more quickly zhan ze old man valked in ze courtroom." Ludwig noted.

"If you think I should go faster, I will." Matthew complied.

Matthew sped up slightly. He reached the door and turned, heading back. The jurors watched tensely as he hobbled back to the chair, which now represented the front door. He stopped, unlocking it, then pushed it open, before speaking loudly. "Stop."

"Right." Kiku said, looking at his watch.

"What's the time?"

"Fifteen ... twenty ... thirty ... thirty-one seconds exactry."

"Thirty-one seconds." Ludwig said, amazed.

"It's my guess that the old man was trying to get to the door, heard someone racing down the stairs, and assumed it was the boy." Matthew explained.

"I think that's possible." Ivan agreed, a metal pipe in his hands. Matthew wondered how he had gotten it through security.

"Assumed?" Lovino screeched, infuriated. "Now, listen to me you people. I've seen all kinds of dishonesty in my day ... but this little display takes the cake." He turned to Yao. "Tell him, will you?"

Yao sat down silently. Lovino looked him over before standing and striding over to Matthew.

"You come in here with your heart bleeding all over the floor about slum kids and injustice but you make up these wild stories, and you've got some soft-hearted old ladies listening to you. Well I'm not. I'm getting real sick of it." Lovino turned to the rest of the jurors. "What's the matter with you people? This kid is guilty! He's got to burn! We're letting him slip through our fingers here!"

"Our fingers?" Matthew asked calmly. "Are you his executioner?"

"I'm one of them."

"Perhaps you'd like to pull the switch."

"For this kid? You'd bet I'd like to pull the switch!" Lovino's voice was steadily raising.

"I'm sorry for you."

"Don't start with me!"

"What it must feel like to want to pull the switch."

"Shut up!"

"You're a sadist."

"Sta 'zitto!" Lovino was screaming now.

"You want to see this boy die because you personally want it—not because of the facts." Matthew accused, his voice stronger.

"Sta 'zitto, you son of a cagna!" He lunged at Matthew, but Ivan's strong arms around his torso kept him from breathing properly, much less moving.

"Let me go! I'll kill him. I'll kill him!"

"You don't really mean you'll kill me, do you?" Matthew asked softly.

Lovino stopped struggling, and stared at him.


	3. Chapter 3

Lovino glared angrily at the stone faced Canadian, still being held back by the Russian's immobile arms.

After a long pause Ivan let go, and Lovino angrily stormed to the window, glaring at the building across the alleyway.

The other jurors still stared, shocked at his statement. The door opened, and Basch looked in, a hand on the holster for his gun.

"Is there anything wrong, gentlemen?" He asked, looking around. "I heard some noise."

"No. There's nothing wrong." Arthur said, pointing to the diagram. "You can take that back. We're finished with it."

Basch nodded, taking the diagram and exiting. The rest of the jurors remain silent. A few of the jurors, take their seats, sitting awkwardly.

"Well, what are you looking at?" He asked, turning around. He angrily took his seat, and was soon followed by the rest of jurors.

Francis started to doodle and Gilbert let out a quiet 'Kesesese.', but no one spoke.

A few moments later, Yao piped up. "I don't see why we have to behave like children here."

"Nor do I. Ve have a responsibility. Zhis is a remarkable thing about democracy. Zhat ve are ... vhat is ze vord? ... Ah, notified! Zhat ve are notified by mail to come down to zhis place and decide on ze guilt or innocence of a man ve have not known before. Ve have nothing to gain or lose by our verdict. Zhis is one of the reasons vhy ve are strong. Ve should not make it a personal thing." Ludwig said seriously.

No one decided to continue talking for a few moments, until Francis pointed something out.

"Well—we're still nowhere. Who's got an idea?" He asked, setting down his pencil.

"I think maybe we should try another vote." Ivan recommended. "Mr. Foreman?"

"It's all right with me. Anybody doesn't want to vote?" Arthur looked around the table, only to be met with questioning eyes.

"All right, let's do it!" Alfred cheered, shattering the gloomy mood.

"I want an open ballot." Lovino required. "Let's call out our votes. I want to know who stands where."

"That sounds fair. Anyone object?" Arthur asked, looking around again. "All right. I'll call off your names."

He snatched Francis's paper, flipping it over. He quickly drew a small chart with two columns, one for 'Guilty', one for 'Not Guilty'.

"I vote guilty." He stated. "Kiku?"

"Not guilty."

"Lovino?"

"Guilty." And no, Lovino was not pouting.

"Yao?"

"Guilty."

"Feliciano?"

"Not guilty." Matthew saw a flash of hurt in the Italian brothers' eyes.

"Ivan?"

"Not guilty."

"Alfred?"

"Guilty."

"Matthew?"

"Not guilty."

"Pancrazio?"

"Not guilty."

"Gilbert?"

"Guilty."

"Ludwig?"

"Not guilty." Again, Matthew saw a flash of hurt in the brothers's eyes, though this one was punctuated by glares.

"Francis?"

"Guilty."

"Six to six." Yao noted.

 _"_ I'll tell you something. The crime is being committed right in this room." Gilbert raged, shooting a pointed glare at his brother, who lowered his head.

"The vote is six to six." Arthur confirmed.

"I'm ready to walk into court right now and declare a hung jury. There's no point in this going on any more." Lovino said, throwing his arms into the air, and shaking his head.

"I go for that, too. Let's take it into the judge and let the kid take his chances with twelve other guys." Alfred agreed, shrugging his shoulders.

"You mean you still don't think there's room for reasonable doubt?" Feliciano asked, a shocked look on his face.

"No I don't." Alfred and Lovino said at the same time.

"I beg your pardon. Maybe you don't understand the term _'reasonable doubt.'_ " Ludwig snapped.

"What do you mean I don't understand it? Who do you think you are to talk to me like that?" Alfred turned from Ludwig to the rest of the table. _"_ How do you like this guy? He comes over here running for his life, and before he can even take a big breath he's telling us how to run the show. The arrogance of him!"

"Wait a second." Feli said, standing up. "Nobody around here's asking where you came from."

"I was born right here." Alfred stated, pointing a finger at the floor.

Their eyes narrowed, amber again meeting sky blue.

"Or where your father came from ..." Alfred looked away, glaring at the wall. Family, especially elder family was a sore topic for him. Ever since what his father called his 'revolution'. "Maybe it wouldn't hurt us to take a few tips from people who come running here! Maybe they learned something you don't know. You're not so perfect!"

"Please—I am used to this. It's all right. Thank you." Ludwig tried to stop the two men from starting a fight.

"It's not all right!" Feli spat, his curl bouncing angrily.

"Okay, okay, I apologize. Is that what you want?" Alfred surrendered, his own cowlick drooping,

"That's what I want." Feli and Alfred sat back down, Feli closing his eyes.

"All right. Let's stop the arguing. Who's got something constructive to say?" Arthur asked sternly.

"Werr, something's been bothering me a rittre ... this whole business about the stab wound and how it was made, the downward angre of it. You know?" Kiku started hesitantly.

"Don't tell me we're gonna start that. They went over it and over it in court." Lovino dropped his head onto the table.

"I know they did—but I don't go arong with it. The boy is five feet eight inches tarr. His father was six two. That's a difference of six inches. It's a very awkward thing to stab _down_ into the chest of someone who's harf a foot tarrer than you are." Right as Kiku finished, Lovino stood, grabbing Matthew's knife from the table.

"Look, you're not going to be satisfied till you see it again. I'm going to give you a demonstration. Somebody get up." Lovino ordered, looking around the table.

Matthew stood up, slowly walking towards him.

"Okay." Lovino turned to Kiku. "Now watch this. I don't want to have to do it again." He crouched down until he was a good amount shorter than Matthew. "Is that six inches?"

"That's more than six inches." Francis judged.

"Okay, let it be more." Lovino shrugged, wanting to get this over with.

He fiddled with the knife, getting it into the right position in his hand. He held it over his head, his determined brown eyes meeting the equally determined amethyst of Matthew. Suddenly, he stabbed down.

"Look out!" Kiku shouted.

Lovino stopped right before the blade touched Matthew's chest. He let out a slightly maniacal laugh.

"That's not funny." Ivan said, fondling his metal pipe of pain.

"What's the matter with you Lovi?" Feliciano shouted at his brother.

"Just calm down. Nobody's hurt, are they?" Lovino defended.

"No. Nobody's hurt. Matthew said quietly.

"All right. There's your angle. Take a look at it. Down and in. That's how I'd stab a taller man in the chest, and that's how it was done. Take a look at it and tell me if I'm wrong." Lovino said, feeling that they should have finished a while ago.

Kiku didn't answer, even when Lovino stared at him. He angrily jammed the knife back into the table, sitting down.

"Down and in. I guess there's no argument." Alfred said.

Matthew pulled the knife out of table, closing it, before flicking it back open and stabbing downward.

"Did you ever stab a man?" Matthew asked Alfred out of the blue.

"Of course not!" He recoiled, offended.

"Did you?" He asked Lovino.

"No, I didn't!" He objected loudly.

"Where do you get all your information about how it was done?" Matthew asked.

"What do you mean? It's just common sense." Lovino turned, glaring at Gilbird, who had fluttered back in the window onto Gilbert's head.

"Have you ever seen a man stabbed?"

Lovino looked around, trying to keep his worry off his face. "No."

"All right. I want to ask you something. The boy was an experienced knife fighter. He was even sent to reform school for knifing someone, isn't that so?"

"That's right." Francis agreed.

"Look at this." Matthew demonstrated the hold Lovino said the boy used to kill his father. "Doesn't it seem like an awkward way to handle a knife?"

"What are you asking me for?"

Matthew readied his arm to slash the knife overhanded.

"Wait a minute! Give me that." Feli reached out for the knife, taking it from Matthew's hand.

"Have you ever seen a knife fight?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, I have."

"In the movies?"

"In my backyard. On my stoop. In the vacant lot across the street. Too many of them. Switch-knives came with the neighborhood where I lived. Funny I didn't think of it before. I guess you try to forget those things." Feli flicked the knife open. "Anyone who's ever used a switch-knife would never have stabbed downward. You don't handle a switch-knife that way. You use it underhanded."

"Then he couldn't have made the kind of wound which killed his father." Matthew asked for confirmation.

"No. He couldn't have. Not if he'd ever had any experience with switch-knives." Feli confirmed.

"I don't believe it." Lovino sighed, exasperated.

"Neither do I. You're giving us a lot of mumbo jumbo, kesese." Gilbert agreed.

"What do you think?" Matthew asked Francis.

"Well ... I don't know." He replied hesitantly.

"What about you?" Matthew asked Alfred.

"Listen. I'll tell you something. I'm a little sick of this whole thing already. We're getting nowhere fast. Let's break it up and go home. I'm changing my vote to not guilty."

"You're what?" Lovino shouted.

"You heard me. I've had enough." Alfred set his features into a mask of calm.

"What do you mean, you've had enough? That's no answer." Lovino stood again.

"I think perhaps you're right. Zhis is not an answer." Ludwig turned to Alfred. "Vhat kind of man are you? You have sat here and voted guilty vith everyone else because zhere are some theater tickets burning a hole in your pocket. Now you have changed your vote for ze same reason. I do not think you have ze right to play like zhis vith a man's life. Zhis is an ugly and terrible thing to do."

"Now, wait a minute ... you can't talk like that to me." He stood, his mask starting to slip.

"I can talk like zhat to you! If you vant to vote not guilty, zhen do it because you are convinced ze man is not guilty. If you believe he is guilty, zhen vote zhat vay. Or don't you have ze ... ze guts—ze guts to do vhat you think is right?"

"Now listen ..."

"Is it guilty or not guilty?" He asked, eyes boring into the American.

"I told you. Not ... guilty." He was totally to awesome to be quivering under the German's fierce glare.

"Vhy?"

"I don't have to—"

"You have to! Say it! Vhy?"

The two blonds glared at each other, before Alfred lowered his gaze.

"I ... don't think ... he's guilty."

"I want another vote." Matthew requested quickly.

"Okay, there's another vote called for. I guess the quickest way is a show of hands. Anybody object? All right. All those voting not guilty, raise your hands."

Kiku, Feliciano, Ivan, Alfred, Matthew, Pancrazio, and Ludwig raised their hands immediately. A few moments later, Francis's hesitant hand joined them. Arthur looked carefully around the table before raising his own hand.

"Nine." They lowered their hands. "All those voting guilty."

Lovino, Yao, and Gilbert raised their hands. Gilbird raised a wing, but the vote didn't count.

"Three." The trio lowered their hands. "The vote is nine to three in favor of acquittal."

"I don't understand you people. How can you believe zhis kid is innocent? Look, you know how zhose people lie. I don't have to tell you. Zhey don't know vhat truth is. And lemme tell you, zhey—" Feli stood during Gilbert's monologue, walking to the window. "—don't need any real big reason to kill someone either. You know, zhey get drunk, and _bang_ , someone's lying in ze gutter. Nobody's blaming zhem. Zhat's how they are. You know vhat I mean? Violent!" Pancrazio and Ludwig follow.

"Human life don't mean as much to zhem as it does to us. Hey, vhere are you going? Look, zhese people are drinking and fighting all ze time, and if somebody gets killed, so somebody gets killed. Zhey don't care. Oh sure, zhere are some good things about zhem, too. Look, I'm the first to say zhat." Matthew, Kiku, and Ivan stand and walk to the window.

"I've known a few who vere pretty decent, but zhat's the exception. Most of zhem, it's like zhey have no feelings. Zhey can do anything. Vhat's going on here?"

Arthur, Alfred, and Francis leave the table.

"I'm speaking my piece, and you—Listen to me! Zhey're no good. Zhere's not one of 'em who's any good. Ve better vatch out. Take it from me. Zhis kid on trial ..." Lovino sat at the table toying with the knife. Yao stood, going for the window.

"Vell, don't you know about zhem? Listen to me! Vhat are you doing? I'm trying to tell you something..."

Yao stood over him, silent, before speaking in an almost whisper. "I've had enough. If you open your mouth again, I'm going to split your skull."

He stood there for a few moments more. Gilbert looked up at him, then down at the table.

"I'm only trying to tell you ..." He trailed off as Yao glared at him.

"All right. Sit down everybody." Yao barked.

They move to their seats, Feli's cheeks stained with wiped away tear tracks.

"I still believe the boy is guilty of murder. I'll tell you why. To me, the most damning evidence was given by the woman across the street who claimed she actually saw the murder committed." Yao stated, sitting down.

"That's right. As far as I'm concerned, that's the most important testimony." Lovino agreed.

"All right. Let's go over her testimony. What exactly did she say?" Matthew asked, avoiding Gilbert's gaze.

"I believe I can recount it accurately. She said that she went to bed at about eleven o'clock that night. Her bed was next to the open window, and she could look out of the window while lying down and see directly into the window across the street. She tossed and turned for over an hour, unable to fall asleep. Finally she turned toward the window at about twelve-ten and, as she looked out, she saw the boy stab his father. As far as I can see, this is unshakable testimony." Yao explained.

"That's what I mean. That's the whole case." Lovino added.

Alfred took off his glasses and began to clean them on his shirt.

"Frankly, I don't see how you can vote for acquittal." Yao turned to Francis. "What do you think about it?"

"Well . . . maybe . . . there's so much evidence to sift." He stuttered.

"What do you mean, maybe? He's absolutely right. You can throw out all the other evidence." Lovino waved his arms angrily.

"That was my feeling." Yao agreed.

Alfred, still cleaning his glasses, squinted at the clock, Ivan watching him closely.

"What time is it?" He asked,

"Ten minutes to six." Ludwig answered.

"It's late. You don't suppose they'd let us go home and finish it in the morning? I've got a game in less than an hour."

"Not a chance." Feli shook his head.

"Pardon me. Can't you see the clock without your glasses?" Ivan asked the American.

"Not clearly. Why?" He turned to the Russian's tall, blurry form.

"Oh, I don't know. Look, this may be a dumb thought, but what do you do when you wake up at night and want to know what time it is?" He asked, a thoughtful look on his face.

"What do you mean? I put on my glasses and look at the clock."

"You don't wear them to bed."

"Of course not. No one wears eyeglasses to bed." He replied, putting them back on.

"What's all this for?" Francis asked, looking up from his still life of, well, himself.

"Well, I was thinking. You know the woman who testified that she saw the killing wears glasses." Ivan started.

"So does my nonna. So what?" Lovino asked.

"Your grandmother isn't a murder witness." Matthew pointed out.

"Look, stop me if I'm wrong. This woman wouldn't wear her eyeglasses to bed, would she?" Ivan asked.

"Wait a minute! Did she wear glasses at all? I don't remember." Arthur asked nervously.

"Of course she did. Ze voman vore bifocals. I remember zhis very clearly. Zhey looked quite strong." Ludwig confirmed.

"That's right. Bifocals. She never took them off." Pancrazio thought.

"She did wear glasses. Funny. I never thought of it." Yao said contemplatively.

"Listen, she wasn't wearing them in bed. That's for sure. She testified that in the midst of her tossing and turning she rolled over and looked casually out the window. The murder was taking place as she looked out, and the lights went out a split second later. She couldn't have had time to put on her glasses. Now maybe she honestly thought she saw the boy kill his father. I say that she saw only a blur." Matthew explained.

"How do you know what she saw? Maybe she's far-sighted." Lovino looked around at the silent table. "How does he know all these things?"

"Does anyone think there still is not a reasonable doubt?" Matthew asked the silent table. He looked around, focusing on Gilbert. The Prussian, looked down, shaking his head.

"I think he's guilty." Lovino proclaimed.

"Does anyone else?" Matthew asked,

"No. I'm convinced." Yao replied.

"You're alone." He told Lovino.

"I don't care whether I'm alone or not! I have a right!"

"You have a right."

"Well, I told you I think the kid's guilty. What else do you want?"

"Your arguments." The table looked at Lovino.

"I gave you my arguments."

"We're not convinced. We're waiting to hear them again. We have time."

Lovino turned frantically to Yao, pleading. "Listen. What's the matter with you? You're the guy. You made all the arguments. You can't turn now. A guilty man's gonna be walking the streets. A murderer. He's got to die! Stay with me."

"I'm sorry." Yao apologized. "There's a reasonable doubt in my mind."

"We're waiting." Matthew said calmly.

Lovino turned violently on him.

"Well, you're not going to intimidate me! I'm entitled to my opinion! It's gonna be a hung jury! That's it!"

Feliciano dove under the table, whimpering. Ludwig pulled him up, and Feliciano curled into him, trembling. Ludwig blushed, awkwardly patting the Italian.

"There's nothing we can do about that, except hope that some night, maybe in a few months, you'll get some sleep."

"You're all alone, fratello." Feli said between shudders.

"It takes a great deal of courage to stand alone." Pancrazio added.

Lovino whipped around, looking his silent comrades. He focused on his little brother the one afraid of him. And in his mind he realized. Not guilty. His face contorted in pain, and his eyes glistened as he slammed his fist onto the table.

"All right!" He sobbed, turning away. "Not guilty."

Arthur stood, knocking on the door. Basch opened it, and the jurors filed out, until only Feliciano and Lovino are left in the room. Lovino turned and saw that they were alone. Feli's eyes looked into his own, the pain and hurt of being divided reflected in them. Lovino broke, flinging himself into his brother's arms, crying his heart out.

"How *sob* can you not hate me."

"It's okay Lovi. I could never hate you."

Lovi pulled back, the tears still flowing from his eyes. The two brothers left the room, closing the door behind them.


End file.
